


If it's not the drink, it's how you move

by AFullRiggedShip (Wintermane)



Category: The Lord of the Rings (Movies), The Lord of the Rings - J. R. R. Tolkien
Genre: Birthday, Cute, First Kiss, I'll make a tag for that, M/M, Party Tree, Rivendell, Weathertop, definitely not in the first part, elrond - Freeform, fluff with plot, h/c, hobbit kisses, house of elrond, i'll also put it in the summary, i'll probably keep making bad references, maybe no sex, sort of though not REALLY, there will be at least one little drawing
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-06-02
Updated: 2015-06-03
Packaged: 2018-04-02 12:53:48
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 2
Words: 3,699
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4060762
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Wintermane/pseuds/AFullRiggedShip
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>In which Samwise Gamgee tries to find distraction for a distraction named Frodo Baggins. And Frodo misses seeing his Uncle Bilbo off.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Oh so here we go again, this was typed up originally on my phone, at night, in the dark.  
> I almost never write, I've been working on some HP thing for a while, but it's long and I don't have the patience for it. Short cute things though, I apparently have ample patience for. Seriously, the last time I wrote fic was probably like ten years ago or more. HA. 
> 
> No Beta. No Sex. Hobbit kisses!
> 
> Here's your picture: http://afullriggedship.tumblr.com/post/120532432118/the-worst-part-is-when-theres-fic-attached

Sam is on his second ale of the evening, at least. It isn't even very late yet, but he's sitting and just staring into the bit of liquid left in the bottom like it will somehow swallow him up. It's loud at the party, there's lights everywhere and it may as well be daylight. There are just so many people. Sam frowns into his mug, as a gaggle of young hobbit ladies swarm past, laughing merrily. It's not the same as when he's working in the garden and someone happens up the lane and stops to chat. This is noise. He turns and sees the elder Baggins regaling a pile of young children at his feet of his daring adventures. Sam let's a small smile touch the corner of his lips, he does love Mister Bilbo's stories. The smile slips as he notices Gandalf sitting behind his enthusiastic friend, this wizard regards him carefully and his gaze moves past Sam's left shoulder, but only for a moment. The crinkle of his eyes deepens as he laughs appropriately with one of Bilbo's more pronounced exclamations, and he returns to casually listening to whatever story he is probably a part of. Sam's interest however has been piqued, whatever could Gandalf seen that would have drawn his attention? Sam turns back and immediately sits down hard on the bench. That. That is what Gandalf saw after regarding his own face with just a touch of amusement.

A pale face tinged with the pink of merriment and exertion, haloed by soft brown curls. Slim waist that bows and turns. And petit young hands that grasp a young Hobbit lass in whirling dance. And then, as if feeling a gaze upon him- His head tilts back over his shoulder to look and Sam cannot break from those ice blue eyes. Frodo lights up and his face, or perhaps his whole body seems to smile. He looks around cheekily, and notices Rosie Cotton with pretty ribbons in her hair spinning with some younger hobbits helping them "dance". Lifting his eyebrows so they scoot into his hair, Frodo ducks out of the throng of people and flops on the bench across from Sam. "Go on Sam! Ask Rosie for a dance!" Sam looks into his ale, which is now gone, and back up at Frodo. His breath is forced and quick as he tries to catch it. His hair is wild and messy, not like how it looks when Sam sees him in the mid afternoon, puttering around the smial. A light sheen of sweat is on his forehead from the lights, and the crowd, and the dancing.

The dancing.

Sam can't focus anymore, it's not the ale, or maybe it is. He mumbles an excuse to Frodo, and pretends to toss back the rest of his long dried mug. And starts away from the table. "Might get another, it is a party after all." He mutters. Frodo rolls his eyes playfully, "now Sam, it IS a party, so you should be having fun." He makes a movement to pull Sam into the fray. Frodo's smaller slightly sweaty hand makes brief contact with the younger hobbits arm. Sam pulls away hurriedly, and almost sprints away. Frodo shakes his head, and ducks back into the crowd.

 

-later-

 

Sam is standing by the wash tent and allows his heart rate to return to normal. There was a brief upset with one of Gandalf's fireworks and he listens to the click of dishes as Peregrin Took and Meridoc Brandybuck furiously scrub and mumble constant apologies to the wizard who is now undoubtably chaperoning. He leans against one of the tent poles and exhales sharply. He was only a might bit frightened when everyone started screaming about a dragon, it really just was the suddenness of it all. That was all. Really. But before that. Before.

Sam hurried away from Frodo, and refused to look back. He couldn't stand to see those shining eyes laughing for any longer. After making his grand escape and was safely out of range he ambled near one of the many tables of food, but for once he wasn't hungry. His stomach had been in knots since earlier that day, earlier when he had seen Frodo practically skipping from finding Gandalf on the road. He had been beaming as he excitedly told Sam the news, all while clutching at Sam's shoulders. Poor Sam had nearly dropped the basket of vegetables, when Frodo leaned close to his ear with an air of great secrecy and whispered, "I do believe they're planning something."

Then there was the upset with the fireworks, and as chaos filled the air he, Samwise Gamgee did not think or worry or fear or anything except the one word that escaped him as he ran into the mass of terrified hobbits, "Frodo".

 

-

 

"-This is the END. I am leaving NOW. GOOD-BYE." And just like that Bilbo disappears. Chaos erupts for the second time that evening. There's confusion and upset, because," old Bilbo was always a might dodgy, but this takes the cake." And for many hobbits, being upset, or scared, or confused mostly leads to eating and so it went. Frodo was swarmed with questions, and mobbed by the hobbits that were more concerned with gossip rather than eating and he finally was able to duck behind a clump of bushes to be rid of them.

When Sam next found Frodo, he was again sweaty and his breath escaped his parted lips in small gasps. This time it was from what at this point would be considered a "harrowing escape". Sam passes Frodo his mug, filled with a sweet cold honey wine. Frodo gives the barest of nods before tipping it back, exposing his milky white neck. Sam swallows the feeling of cotton wool in his throat and awkwardly takes the cup back as Frodo hands it to him, while wiping his mouth with his sleeve. "I have to go up to see if Bilbo has left yet, I knew this was going to happen," Frodo mutters," and how did he expect me to deal with all these people. And Gandalf! I should suspect he's with him!" Sam fiddles with the mug handle. Frodo glances around the bushes, "I think it's calmed down a bit." Sam continues toying with his mug. "I'll go up and see where they've gone off to and then I'll be back down," Frodo says into the branches as he looks up the back pathway. Sam stops his hands from moving as much. As Frodo takes a step toward the pathway, Sam touches his sleeve, "Mister Frodo-"

Frodo looks back at Sam, who is standing there gripping the edge of his sleeve. "Yes?" Sam flinches, and Frodo relaxes, "yes Sam?" And Sam looks up into those bright blue eyes, that were wild with fire not but a second ago, and now tamed with moonlight. Damp curls and wrinkled shirt. "I wasn't looking at her." Sam mumbles, he drops his hand from Frodo's sleeve and falls back, looking back down at the mug in his hands.

He doesn't hear Frodo take the five steps to him. Two steps and Sam is staring at the grass, two more steps and he hasn't looked up, Frodo places his hand on top of the mug and takes it from Sam's hands. When Sam looks up, he is one step away from Frodo, and his hazel eyes are full of questioning and just a touch of fear. "I just don't want you thinking I'm out of place looking at a fine lass like Rosie," Sam stumbles over his words, "my da always says to mind my place, and I intend to keep it that way." Lies. You're lying, Samwise. "Then who or what," Frodo leans in just a bit, his hands with the mug behind his back, "had caught your attention Samwise Gamgee?"

Sam glances up through his hair to look at Frodo. It was the second, or was it third mistake of his evening. Frodo is smiling, the hints of starlight and bonfire touching his cheeks. Sam swallows hard again, "begging your pardon Mister Frodo," he creaks out, those cups of ale drying on his tongue, "I was looking at you."

Sam does not hear Frodo taking that final step toward him, he does not hear anything but the blood pounding in his ears and the heat rising in his face. He is staring at the ground again, and does not notice the two feet come into view. His eyes burn and his stomach twists uncomfortably. "Why were you looking at me Sam, trying to set me up?" A voice, much closer than Sam was expecting, and much softer than he had ever heard before asked. It was a playful, easy question, one to open a door just a little farther, or seal it shut forever. Sam lifts his head for the umpteenth time, and finds his face alarmingly close to Frodo's, however this time he cannot back away as Frodo has taken his moment of silence to bring one hand up to sit on his shoulder.

"You should at least tell me before you make any grand plans," urges Frodo. He only had meant to moisten his lips, just enough to poke a bit more fun before backing off. But Sam watches as he pulls his bottom lip under his teeth, and finally leans in to Frodo. "I didn't make any," he murmurs softly against Frodo's mouth, "though of course I would tell you if I had." Frodo laughs quietly, his warm breath on Sam's face. "Of course you would have Samwise," he answers gently before closing the gap, and lightly pressing his lips to Sam's.

Terrified would be the word that Sam would first put forth, if his brain had been working. Elated would have been a close second. Instead of words though, he grips Frodo's shirt by the elbows, and kisses him back. And as he does he feels Frodo smile into his mouth. A dull thud registers to both of them as Sam's now forgotten mug falls onto the soft earth. Frodo has one hand on the back of his head, fingers barely tangled in sandy hair, and the other wound into the front of Sam's white party shirt.

A moment later is when the panic sets in, Frodo stumbles back with a gasp, his eyes dart around and he runs a hand through his already messy hair, "I'm so sorry Sam, I don't know what's come over me." He gasps out, his face flushed. "I must go see to Uncle Bil-" he falters and looks at Sam, apology lacing his delicate features. Sam looks, in a word, mortified. "Is that... I mean to say...did I do something wrong?" He asks, eyes shining with sudden unbidden tears. Frodo feels his heart stop, just for a moment, and when it regains steadily beating, he exhales shakily and takes that one step back to Sam. "No Sam, I feel only that I have taken advantage of your good nature," he says in a very small voice. His breathing is shaky, and his words are like bits of glass, and his eyes. His eyes. Sam breathes for both of them.

Hands slide over the tips of pointed ears, and gently rub in tiny circles in that pile of deep brown curls. "I was looking at you," Sam says again, his words muffled as he speaks them into Frodo's temple. His lips push against skin, as he let's his hands fall and come to rest in either side of that smaller face. "You are truly a sight when you dance," Sam whispers against the bridge and then the tip of Frodo's nose, "one cannot help but look." He pauses for Frodo has gone very still and silent, his eyes are wide and in the night have become deep pools, flecked with light. "But," Sam pushes on, speaking against Frodo's lips, "it would be you no matter what." This time there is no following, Sam stops speaking, and Frodo parts his lips just the smallest amount. And this time when they meet, it's in the middle. This time Sam tastes apple wine and laughter and starlight in Frodo's mouth, and Frodo tastes summer ale, and uncertainty and love in Sam's.  
This time it's Sam who pulls away slowly, and Frodo who's cheeks flare, this time it's Frodo who gazes at Sam and Sam who meets that gaze with a smile.

And when Frodo finally makes his way up the hill to find that Bilbo has already left, Sam stands at the bottom of the hill, waiting for him to return.


	2. Gravity Under a Dome of Stars

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In Which Frodo Baggins Considers the Next Chapter of his Life and Samwise Happens to Follow Along.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I lied about being done apparently. Jolly good.   
> Anyways, same dealio, this was mostly written on my phone in the dark. Casual fic is apparently the only way I can get things done. I can feel my writing style slipping into how I usually write, so we'll see how that is as we go. 
> 
> No Beta/No Sex

\- At the House of Elrond -

It's deep into the early hours of the morning the second time Frodo wakes. There is no movement for Gandalf has moved to his own quarters, and there is no sound deep in the forests of Rivendell. There is moonlight, and starlight, and far off the very distant sound of things that creep in the night.

He rises, propping himself up on his elbows, it is so deeply quiet. There is no haunting chill or the screams of the wraiths as water bore down on their strong, yet not quite solid frames. But the echoes are there, leaking from his every pore, the sound of twilight and death.

He raises a hand to the wound dressing, and flinches as it let's a shock go through his small body. It will be there forever. Elrond had told him so, that long after it had healed, that echo would remain.

Kicking the blankets off, Frodo padded quietly to the window. The cool flagstone chilling his feet slightly, it was nice this smooth flat surface, it reminded him of home. Not rock, nor water, nor bed of leaves felt right even for strong hobbit feet. The moon was high and bright over the massive buildings, each one that the light touched seemed to hum with starlight.

"It must be close to four," he murmured to the window. He picked up his cloak that Gandalf had nearly placed on the chair he had been sitting in, and quietly went out the door.

-

Samwise woke with a start, he had finally fallen asleep after days of looking after Frodo. He hadn't felt tired that whole time, but when Frodo woke, all those hours stacked up and he fell blissfully asleep after dinner. He woke from the depths of a dream to see the shadow of a hobbit slip past his open door. 'That can't be Mister Frodo up and about,' he thinks to himself, and on the heels of that thought, "but of course it would be, he probably doesn't wish to wake anyone."

He makes a bit of extra noise rousing himself, as to not startle the elder hobbit. Collecting his jacket and buttoning his shirt, he pulls open the door. The hall is empty, and for a moment he believes that perhaps Frodo was not out of bed at all. He listens, the air is still and as he exhales quietly, the room seems to gently push him out. He walks in the direction he saw Frodo go.

-

Frodo remains silent with his footfalls, and ambles toward a sheltered courtyard. He reaches a domed area that is brighter, perhaps it's the stone work, but perhaps the stars themselves are drawn to it. He leans against a column and sighs. At the end of the week there will be a meeting, Lord Elrond had spoken of it grimly as Gandalf had urged him. Frodo knew that Sam, as well as Merry and Pippin assumed they would be on the road home by then. But there, under this dome of stars, Frodo could admit what he could not tell the others, he did not think he would be able to go home. Not for a while, perhaps not ever, there was a shadow creeping into his heart. A haze of doubt that spread like a deep fog through his body and mind.

"Mister Frodo?" Samwise is out on the veranda, looking about. "Here, Sam" Frodo answers, but his words are sucked up by the unrelenting quiet. "Here, Sam." He says, louder this time, and takes a step away from that place haunted by starlight.

Sam is walking to him with a concerned look, "you ought to be careful Mister Frodo, you're still healing." His voice is soft and not at all commanding, but Frodo still shies a bit. "I feel fine, Sam. I feel as though I've slept far too much lately. I just wanted to clear my head for a bit."  
He looks back sheepishly, they haven't had any spare moments alone since the party and now without Gandalf, Merry or Pippin the gap between them yawns.

-

After Bilbo's abrupt disappearance at his own birthday things had taken some time to level out. The next morning had been a blur with activity, presents to be given out, hobbits to pacify and feed; the Sackville Baggins' to avoid and then push out of the back door where they were loitering. Frodo had been knee deep in other business, and Sam went back to his own work. Weeks had gone by and neither Sam, nor Frodo took the chance to say more than a few pleasantries. Then there was that day, Sam had worked up the courage to speak to Frodo about the night of the party, but it was a might late. He saw lights pouring from the living room in the smial and had approached casually. From within he heard the booming voice of Gandalf, and Frodo's much smaller and fearful one. What happened after that was a bit of a blur; Sam was yanked through the window, Gandalf persuaded him to go with Frodo, the road, the fields, Merry and Pippin, bowling over the edge of the cliff by Farmer Maggots, and then-

-all that happened in darkness. The wraith, running through cool slippery leaves to Buckleberry Ferry, the inn, Strider, Weathertop-

Sam let's out a shaky breath as his chest constricts. Weathertop. Amon Sûl. How could he have been so blind? How could he have not thought-- Frodo gently touches his arm, "it's alright Sam." And Sam looks into those eyes, usually like crisp winter, now tinged with the deepest ocean blue, and his own eyes burn. "No it isn't Mister Frodo, I heard what Elrond was telling you, it won't go away- not ever!" His eyes are full of wobbly unshed tears, as his voice lifts slightly, "you're always telling everyone it's alright, but it's not!" He squeezes his eyes shut and the tears fall. 

Frodo reaches both his hands up and places them on Sam's face, "No, you're right Sam, it isn't alright, but it will be. Just think about going home to the Shire, to Hobbiton. Everything will be as it was." He wipes the tears away, and for a moment, Sam believes him. They stand in silence, Sam's eyes still sealed shut against seeing that shadow lingering in Frodo's own. He heaves a long sigh, and feels the heat of Frodo's hands on his face. He thinks of the Shire, warm rolling hills of grass, young children playing, the babble of streams heavy with that weeks rain, and of Frodo reading casually under the big tree atop Bag End. As he opens his eyes finally, Frodo's hands fall away and he mourns the loss of contact. He must have leaned to follow Frodo's hands by instinct because the petit hobbit smiles and looks a bit embarrassed. Sam feels the heat rise in his cheeks, and to the tips of his ears. The smile on Frodo's lips widens and shows his teeth a bit, something that for the very polite, well mannered hobbit, is fairly uncommon, and Sam shakily smiles in return. "My dear Samwise," he says, so quietly that no one else could hear, even if they weren't alone in the middle of a dark night in Rivendell. "What would I ever do without you?", he leans in then, and gives the barest brush of lips against cheek. 

As if that moment of uncertainty needed only a small catalyst to pass by, Sam tugs on the edges of Frodo's hastily wrapped cloak and pulls him into his chest. "Now don't make fun, Mister Frodo-" he mutters against the dark brown curls, "it wouldn't be fair of you." A small tight laugh escapes the smaller hobbit's mouth as he buries his face into Sam's shirt. 

They stand there, again in silence, for a long minute.

At around this time Frodo happens to notice that while buried in Sam's shirt there is a large portion that is not buttoned up to his throat as usual. This is the same time that Sam is breathing in Frodo's hair; the scent of deep wood and spring rain with whatever elves happen to clean themselves up in. It happened that at the same time Sam is hoping that he doesn't have to let go of Frodo any time soon, that Frodo happened to be curious about that small open patch of creamy skin. Frodo furrows his brow and looks up at Sam, bumping his nose as he lifts his head. Sam's mouth is very very close to him. Expecting Frodo to move or at least say something, Sam tilts his head slightly to the left, which in some amount of hindsight should have been thought through a bit better. With an opportunity provided, the smaller hobbit raises himself off the balls of his feet, so as to be level with his gardener, and kisses him soundly. 

It is around five in the morning, and that deep stillness that creeps in the night is being broken by the first bird song. The sky is a rich blue, and still flooded with stars, and those stars whisper among themselves only. It is around five in the morning, and Frodo decides that he is quite content, standing there on the veranda near a dome of those stars that murmur into his ears with his lips meeting the soft yielding mouth of his dearest friend.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Oh the joke is that it's Elrond everything is Elrond. I mean it's his home, so it makes sense.   
> But anyways, where Frodo ends up is totally a nod to the best sad dad in the world.
> 
>  
> 
> Again, if there's pics I'll update. 
> 
> Cheers!

**Author's Note:**

> Hope you enjoyed my brief return to writing. Thanks for reading. Cheers!


End file.
